True Power
By Steve Dishon
My father is a generous, kind man. But not when it comes to my safety. I think sometimes he still sees me as a child. I’m a teenager now, not fully a part of the royal court, but more than capable of handling myself. Venturing outside these walls is not a big deal.
Still, standing in front of my father, the king, I do feel small.
“After nightfall,” the king says, fingers drumming rhythmically on the arm of his throne, “The forest beyond our walls is not safe. My enemies are many and would relish the chance to get to me through you.”
We have had this argument so many times. I beg to have a little freedom and he doubles down on my safety. I think secretly he knows I venture beyond the walls, the same as he did in his youth. I don’t argue with him, kneel in acquiescence and head toward my chamber.
Once out of sight, I grab my cloak and move toward the tunnels that circumvent the moat and lead to the forest. Moving quickly, I slip past the guards, through the tunnel and out of the entrance in the cave to the south of the castle. The whole trip is easy, too easy. I think the guards pretend not to notice and then watch from afar. I haven’t caught them yet, but I have my suspicions.
Beyond the walls, I can see and smell the smoke rising from the town. The town is small, but capable. The carpenters produce our furniture. The metalsmiths provide our weapons. The farmers who live on the edges of town provide the grain we use in nearly every meal, and the woman’s guild makes the fabric that becomes our clothes. In return, the castle, my father the king, protects the town. It has been this way for generations and works so long as the king remains benevolent.
“Snap” The sound startles me and brings me back to the present moment. I stand silently listening. I hear slight movement a few meters beyond me, in the ditch leading to the stream that feeds the town. I move forward cautiously, spying a slight young man limping up the ravine. His hair is matted, eye swollen, clothes torn beyond repair.
Creeping forward, “Easy,” I say reaching forward with my hand extended, “ I can help.” He flinches away, perhaps not accustomed to kindness. I give him a piece of bread from my pocket. He takes it cautiously, and reluctantly takes a bite. He then puts the rest in his pocket. Perhaps he was used to rationing, rather than eating an entire piece by himself. When I ask his name, he hesitates, then says, “Thomas.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I offer to take him to the castle. He doesn’t ask who I am, but seems to understand. We walk back the way I had come, toward the same secret entrance from which I had emerged. He speaks very little as we walk, but he seems determined now, as if he has gained a second wind. I have a nagging sensation that something is off, but I will not deny help to one in need. I think my father would agree under the circumstances.
Our first stop in the castle was the kitchens. I convinced Thomas to sit and eat some soup, some roast mutton, and honey cakes. He eats ravenously as if he had never seen so much food. When the plate is clean, I offer more. He denies the offer and begins looking toward the door.
“Ah, you seem interested in what’s beyond the kitchen. Come, follow me.” I am proud to share my home. I show him the armory with all of is swords, shields and lances. From there we stop in the chapel. We kneel at the altar and offer our good fortune to God. We depart and being making our way to the throne room. As we walk, he looks like he is taking inventory. When I mention my father, I can’t help but notice his jaw tightens slightly. I cast no judgment, I was too busy being the good host.
As we enter the throne room, my father rises and moves to greet us. I step forward to hug my father, blocking the view of Thomas. In less than a second, Thomas lurches around me knocking my father back onto his throne. He moves behind deftly and raises a knife to his neck.
This moment seems caught in time- everyone freezes.
“You killed him!” Thomas screamed. “You killed my father.” All signs of his injuries were gone. In its place is a young man full of strength with vengeance in his heart.
Instantly, the guards move to approach the throne, raising their weapons. My father slowly lifts a finger and waves them away. They respond without question- true power. He crooks his head slightly and peers up with his eyes. Softly, he speaks, “Who was your father?
“The king’s assassin,” the boy said with a sneer of mockery. “YOUR assassin,” Thomas spits with venom.
Before the boy could continue or the king could respond, a shadowy figure steps from behind a pillar. He is thin, shrouded in mystery, but exuding an unnamable power. In what is seemingly a blink of an eye, the assassin moves on his son. He glides effortlessly as if floating, snatches his son’s wrist aggressively and removes the knife. He squats, spins and sweeps his son’s legs. He catches him before he slams the marble floor, pinning him to the floor .
He pulls back his hood, but needs no introduction. It is the king’s assassin, Alaric Ravenscar.
The king breathes a sigh of relief, “Alaric, let him up.” He does so and brings him in front ot the king. Alaric looks down upon Thomas.
“Son, he says, “moving here with the king and leaving you with your mother in the village was my idea to keep you safe. Even in the castle, you would be at risk if anyone knew who you were.” He went on to explain, “I faked my death to draw out a traitor in our midst. There could be no leaks. Everyone, including you, had to believe I had perished.”
Murmurs break out around the hall. Taking the moment of confusion, the king’s jester steps forward, complete with conical hat and bells. “While all seems well now, your majesty, this boy tried to kill you. One cannot threaten the life of a king and live. He must be made an example of.”
The king rose, “True, traitorous behavior certainly deserves death. However, he is a boy. Would you not offer compassion here?”
“Of course not your majesty, we cannot create loopholes to excuse traitorous behavior,” he said nearly frothing at the mouth.
At this, the assassin steps forward. “We will use your own words against you. No mercy for the true traitor in the court. I was going to expose you today anyway, the boy just forced our hand and sealed your fate more quickly.”
“Guards,” the king ordered, “remove this villain from my sight.” He motioned to remove him from court.
With a guardsman on each arm, they dragged the jester from the court kicking and screaming.
The king turns to Alaric, winks and says, “It is good to have you truly back my friend.” He then turns, eyes following on young Thomas. “You, young man, have a lot of spirit. I think..” He is cut off. Thomas falls to his knees, apologizing. “I am sorry my lord. I only meant to…” Now it was the kings turn to speak. I have never seen my father so compassionate. “Rise, young Thomas. Our little game was not fair to you, or your mother. Your response here today shows how far you will go to protect those you love. If I were to allow you to live in this castle and learn your father’s trade, could I count on your loyalty?”
It didn’t take a heartbeat for Thomas to leap to his feet claiming loyalty to the king and this court.
“Then it’s settled. Call for his mother. They will move in immediately,” proclaimed the king.
Alaric steps in, “Are you sure my lord? We may not be able to keep them safe.”
“Now that the secret is out, they will be safer here. And, you will not be around forever, especially when my son is king. He will need his own shadow. Who better than your son,” the king explained.
All was set in motion.
As I look back now, I learned a lot about being king. I saw his true power that day, compassion for his people and loyalty among all else. I may not sneak out anymore. I guess time will tell. If I do, at least I won’t do it alone.
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